


When Ever the Twain Shall Meet

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosie, Jack, and Phryne consider their relationships to each other. Chastely. This isn't that kind of story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Death of a Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> For hearts_blood, who asked me what I thought it meant that Rosie said “I’ve heard so much about you” when introduced to Phryne in Murder Most Scandalous (s2e1).

Jack wasn’t sure when he’d first mentioned Phryne to Rosie. Certainly, it had been an attempt at making conversation during some of the stilted, awkward meetings they’d attempted before the divorce. He did know that he’d talked about Phryne as an irritant first, this dilettante who fancied herself a private investigator. He’d been rather cutting, as he recalled, his discomfort at feeling that he had nothing to say to his wife that she’d want to hear making his comments rather darker than he’d intended. After all, he couldn’t tell Rosie that even though Miss Fisher was a bothersome woman, even though she should leave the investigating to the police, he was still rather enthralled by her _joie de vivre_ , not to mention her lovely face and deliciously decadent perfumes.

But Rosie seemed to have figured that last part out.

*****

It had taken almost a year for Rosie to file for divorce, and although she and Jack had continued to meet regularly, in hopes that something between them would change, Rosie hadn’t changed her mind. Something had changed between them. There was no spark left, and Rosie found herself wanting that spark.

But Rosie noticed when, at their monthly “reconciliation” dinners, Jack’s dry recitations of his day-to-day activities changed. His tone deepened when he spoke of this Fisher woman; his protestations of how abominable she was rang false. Rosie was aware that the malaise that had been following Jack since he returned from the war seemed to be lifting, and if it had been her efforts that had done it, she would have been thrilled. But it wasn’t. It seemed that, in just a few weeks, this Phryne Fisher had accomplished what Rosie had been unable to in the years since Jack came home. She’d brought Jack back to life.

So Rosie encouraged Jack’s stories about the woman; she noticed when Jack’s mentions of Miss Fisher became less irritated and more admiring. She researched Phryne Fisher, read the newspaper reports of her exploits, spoke to her society friends about her. What Rosie really wanted to know was what it was that the woman had to offer Jack. _Rosie’s_ Jack. Rosie’s husband.

*****

Jack didn’t really notice when his stories of Miss Fisher turned into admiring ones. Rosie seemed to enjoy the stories of his cases, though he did edit out some of the fine points; she would not likely be receptive to those. The few times he’d slipped and remarked on specifics such as autopsy results, Rosie had lightly rebuked him, reminding him that such things were inappropriate in polite conversation. He understood—so much of what went into his work was distasteful to many. He didn’t blame Rosie for not wanting to hear those details, but he found himself wishing that they had more to talk about these days than the books they’d recently read or the socializing she’d done with friends who used to be theirs and now were only hers.

So he found himself holding back in his conversations with Rosie in a way that he never had to with Phryne. And he allowed himself to regale Rosie with the tales of Miss Fisher, knowing that they were more exciting and less distressing than those of what his role in the investigations might be. After all, Miss Fisher, as a very modern woman, had so many exploits she seemed almost to be the heroine of an adventure novel.

*****

Rosie had fought herself over the decision to divorce for a long time, but she’d slowly come to the realization that she and Jack were never going to be as easy together as they had been before the war. The Jack that came back from Europe wasn’t the smiling, carefree young man she’d married. This new Jack didn’t smile much; he was so serious, so dour! She had been told, before he arrived, that men came back from war damaged, but she didn’t really understand what it was that had damaged Jack. She’d seen the news reports, of course, but that was all over now! He was home, wasn’t he? The war was over, and he was whole, at least on the outside. Why could he not get past it? Didn’t he want it to be over? Didn’t he want everything to be as it had been? He hadn’t wanted to talk to her about what had happened during his time in Europe; he’d said she wouldn’t understand. And though that was true, she would have liked to try.

Perhaps if she and Jack had had children, they would at least have had something to keep them trying to bridge the gap that grew between them, but alas, they had never been blessed that way. That was a particular sadness of Rosie’s. She loved children, and would have adored having her own babies. And Jack, with his strong protective streak, would make a wonderful father. But before the war, they had thought they were too young, and afterward, no amount of trying—and it had seemed to get more trying as time went on—had quickened her womb.

And now, there was nothing left between them. Or almost nothing. Rosie still cared for Jack, and she knew Jack cared for her, but it wasn’t the love a woman should have for her husband, or a man for his wife. Their marriage had changed into a relationship of acquaintances who shared a house and, rarely, a bed. Then “rarely” turned to “never,” and eventually Rosie had moved out. She had hoped that her leaving would be a shock, that he would wake up and realize that something was terribly wrong, but he seemed to barely notice. Jack was never hurtful, except that he no longer let her in. It was like he wasn’t even there anymore. And she almost didn’t miss him.

So, no, Rosie couldn’t understand what this Miss Fisher had done for Jack. Rosie would admit to some pangs of what might be jealousy when thinking of how very different Jack was these days. He seemed lighter, somehow, when she saw him, but not particularly toward her. Where that lightness would, in the past, have translated itself into playful flirtiness in his addresses to Rosie, now Jack spoke to her as he would to a friend.

She kept an eye on the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, however. The woman seemed to be brash, modern, and rather scandalous; though her relationship to Prudence Stanley was beyond reproach, her attendance at the many parties and jazz clubs where she was photographed seemed excessive. In every photo, the woman had a different man on her arm—sometimes more than one! Rosie worried that Jack would get involved with this woman and, in his vulnerable state, be irreparably damaged by her. And even though Jack was not her love, not anymore, Rosie wouldn’t stand for that.


	2. Opposing Forces Collide

Phryne wished Jack would talk about his wife. She didn’t even know the woman’s name! Jack had taken to spending his evenings in her parlor, playing draughts and drinking (whisky or some of Mr Butler’s excellent cocktails), and they had talked of many things. The war, their cases, the state of the world, Murdoch Foyle—whatever came to mind. She knew his favorite meal, his favorite color, his favorite authors; she knew that he loved music and loathed paperwork. But he didn’t talk about his wife. Ex-wife, now, Phryne was almost sure, having put together the clues surrounding his absences from the murder investigation at her Aunt P’s house.

She supposed that she could investigate; she could undoubtedly find out about his former wife if she tried. For goodness’ sake, she imagined that a very little prodding of dear Hugh Collins would net her all sorts of answers. But she didn’t want that. She wanted Jack to tell her. She wanted him to explain how he’d gone from “a marriage is still a marriage, Miss Fisher” to having an ex-wife of his own. She was almost certain, from what she knew of Jack, that he wouldn’t have been the one to initiate divorce proceedings. Phryne knew that Jack believed that marriage should be an unbreakable commitment, and that he would have stayed in it until death parted them, regardless of his own happiness. But he was also honorable enough that if his wife had asked him for a divorce, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

She supposed that she’d have to see if he’d respond to some leading questions on her part, though he hadn’t, as yet. Perhaps she’d invite him for dinner. After all, didn’t they say that the way to a man’s secrets was through his stomach? Or perhaps that was something else. Whichever organ it was, she did so enjoy watching Jack eat.

*****

Jack stood in his ex-father-in-law’s study, having bullied his way in past the City North officer who’d been the first on the scene. He hadn’t missed the twinkle in Miss Fisher’s eye, or her smirk as he’d put the gossiping sergeant in his place. He found himself feeling rather pleased with himself for eliciting that reaction from her.

When Rosie appeared in the doorway, Jack was flustered, which unnerved him—he was never flustered! How to introduce her? Their divorce was still relatively new and, though it had been amicable, there was some awkwardness.

The two women shook hands, and as the words “Rosie is my wife— erm, my _former_ … former wife” escaped his lips, both turned in unison to look at him. Terrifying. He felt like a schoolboy, not sure whether to smile or frown. He wanted Rosie to like Phryne, rather desperately, it seemed, and he had no idea why. Because Rosie had been so important in his life up till recently, and Phryne was—what? Just… important? He fidgeted (fidgeted?) a bit as they greeted each other cordially.

Jack pulled himself together and managed to ask Rosie some questions about the crime scene. Be calm, he told himself. Miss Fisher is just a colleague, and it doesn’t matter that she was meeting his wife—ex-wife!—for the first time over a murder at his former father-in-law’s house. Dear God. He breathed a sigh of relief when Rosie left the room to find the housekeeper; running his fingers over his eyebrows, as if that would center him, he turned back to the investigation, and to Phryne.

*****

So this was the famous Miss Fisher! When Jack introduced them, Rosie’s first thought was, strange, this woman didn’t look like she could star in an adventure novel. She was lovely, to be sure—the newspaper photos hadn’t done justice to her striking coloring—and her clothing was divine, but she just seemed like a woman to Rosie.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you, Miss Fisher,” Rosie said politely, scanning Phryne’s face. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but she didn’t expect surprise. Apparently, though Jack had told her about Phryne, he hadn’t spoken to Phryne about her. Rosie found herself slightly irritated by that. Wasn’t she important enough in Jack’s life that he would at least mention her to this— to his— to _whatever_ Miss Fisher was to him? Rosie couldn’t be sure that Jack was involved with Miss Fisher, but there was definitely something between them. Not that it mattered to her. She had Sidney, of course. Still.

Rosie answered Jack’s questions calmly, aware that Miss Fisher was snooping through the photographs and knickknacks on the other side of the room. She saw the other woman pause over the photo of Rosie and Jack on the mantel. It was a casual pose—the photographer had caught her laughing at some quip of Jack’s, and they were smiling at each other. Her father had refused to take that photo down after she’d accepted Sidney’s proposals; father liked Jack, had planned to help Jack advance in the hierarchy of the constabulary, at least until Jack made it clear that he had no wish to move out of field work. Suddenly, Rosie was fiercely glad that the portrait was still there, that Miss Fisher could see that Jack was—or had been—a part of her life.

Rosie smiled tightly at Jack as she left the room in search of Mrs Blount; she didn’t bid Miss Fisher farewell.

*****

Phryne was dumbfounded that Jack’s former wife was also the daughter of his deputy commissioner. That seemed like something that should have come up in their conversations. When Rosie said she was glad to “finally” meet Phryne, Phryne had no idea how to respond—very unlike her! So she sidestepped, not answering. She was very pleased to finally meet Miss Sanderson, but Phryne didn’t want her to think that Jack had turned their divorce into a topic of casual conversation.

As Phryne withdrew to allow Jack and his wife—ex-wife!—a semi-private conversation, she was absolutely riveted by the ramifications of Jack’s marital connections. She couldn’t help making small, strange “hm” noises as she considered. Had it been difficult for Jack at work, during divorce proceedings or after their marriage ended? She hoped not. She hadn’t yet met the deputy commissioner, but she couldn’t imagine that he’d been thrilled to have to remain working with someone who’d hurt his daughter.

Phryne made her way across the room. In an attempt to keep herself from eavesdropping on Jack’s conversation with Rosie (or at least, keep from appearing to be eavesdropping), she poked through the commissioner’s things, stopping on a photo of Jack and Rosie that held pride of place on the commissioner’s mantel. Phryne smothered the pang that she felt, looking at the young Jack laughing down into Rosie’s smiling face. There was a happy softness in his face that she’d never seen, and she was rather uncomfortable with how much she wished to see it directed at herself. She was aware that Rosie was watching her, and didn’t want to let on that she was at all disturbed.

After Rosie left the room, Phryne made her way back over to Jack, who was looking a little ruffled. Without a word, she handed him the photograph. When he gave an exasperated huff as he placed it, face down, on the commissioner’s desk, she was rather relieved, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. She very much wanted to comment on Rosie, on the fact that Jack had never mentioned that he’d been married to the deputy commissioner’s daughter. But she chose her words carefully, knowing that pushing Jack too hard would only make him stubborn. Perhaps he’d tell her more about Rosie when next they met over cocktails.

*****

Rosie, sitting in Jack’s office after her father had been exonerated, found herself examining her ex-husband closely. When he responded to her thanks with “It was a joint effort,” she knew that he was referring to Miss Fisher’s help. Rosie still wasn’t certain that she liked Miss Fisher, but the woman had definitely helped Jack find his fire again. She couldn’t help herself attempting to lead him into revealing more by referring to his recent “escape” from a marriage that wasn’t right for him. He was too gentlemanly to agree, though, and he didn’t give credit to his new investigative partner, either. Instead, he blamed the war.

That blasted war. Rosie knew that he was right; had he not gone to war, they would still be married, the desire between them might have led to children, and the world itself would be different. He had come back from war a different man, one who no longer knew his own wife, and the love between them had withered and died. She knew, too, that this new feeling he had for Miss Fisher was nothing like what he’d had with her. She tried very hard to be happy for him, even with her reservations about Phryne. She definitely hoped that he’d be happy, however their affair turned out. He deserved that.

She wasn’t sure what sort of response she’d hoped to elicit when she told Jack that she and Sidney were engaged. She supposed she’d thought he’d say something like “so soon?”—it had only been a few months since their divorce decree was final, after all—or even that he’d make a comment about how her father favored his godson. That he only said “I wish you the very best,” in his calm, deep voice, caused her a pinch of sadness and something rather like anger; she knew then that it was truly over between them, and though she had no desire to reopen the sad case of their marriage, she wanted him to regret its demise as well. She shook her head slightly. That wasn’t fair. She knew that Jack had, at least at one time, wished the outcome of their marriage to be different. Whatever this sadness was, she needed to let it go. Sidney was waiting.

*****

Phryne and Jack stood in front of the mantel in her parlor, whiskey in hand, discussing the outcome of the case, including the still-missing mystery box. Phryne had her doubts about the possibility that Lola’s Maury could have been the brains behind this operation, and she said so.

“You can’t assume that education and intelligence go hand in hand,” Jack cautioned her.

“No, of course not,” Phryne replied, knowing that he was completely correct in that. She saw an opening then, and took it with both hands. “Rosie’s fiance, for example. Sidney Fletcher. _Highly_ educated. Also, extremely good looking.” She glanced up at Jack through her lashes. “Very charming,” she breathed. “Admirably tall.” Phryne’s lips pursed meaningfully as she trailed off, hoping that he’d use this opportunity to expound on his feelings toward Sidney Fletcher, and therefore, toward Rosie.

But Jack just smiled at her. He could obviously tell what she was angling for, and just as obviously, he had no intention of rising to her bait. Though he did throw her one crumb.

“You’re waving a red rag at a bull, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled, “but I am no longer in that ring.”

Phryne’s relief that his reaction seemed so very un-brokenhearted was palpable. She wanted to cheer. She had been so afraid that he was pining for Rosie, and his calm reply to her teasing set her mind at ease. He was still Jack, even now that the wall he’d kept between his private life and his work had been breached.

She kept her joyous response short as she raised her glass to toast him. “Ole!”


	3. Warming Trends

When Rosie and Sidney heard the news about Harry “The Hangman” Harper, they were having lunch just a few minutes from the Abbotsford club room. Sidney was so upset; he and Harry had become very close since Harry had left West Melbourne to join Abbotsford and Sidney’s company. They headed over to the club room to see if their support was needed.

Rosie was surprised to see Jack’s young constable coming out of the locker room, though she likely shouldn’t have been. She knew that Jack was a fervent Abbotsford man—of course he’d be the one to take this case! And sure enough, there he was, behind Collins. Jack looked well, Rosie thought. When she mentioned that she was marrying yet another Abbotsford man, his sad eyes brightened. Understandable; he’d taken a lot of abuse over his team from her father during their marriage. It had to feel good to Jack to know that father might be getting some of his own back. The old Jack had been prone to mischief that way; it was good to see him feeling that way again.

*****

Phryne met Jack at the morgue to look over Harry Harper’s body. As they bantered, Jack mentioned that Deputy Commissioner Sanderson was rather invested in the outcome. Phryne leaped at the opportunity to again attempt to open up the subject of Rosie, but Jack simply gave her a _look_ and directed conversation back to the body.

What did it mean, that Jack wouldn’t talk about Rosie? Perhaps he was just too gentlemanly to want to kiss and tell. She hoped that was his motivation. She was almost sure that he no longer had feelings for Rosie, but that might be because she found that she hated the idea. Of course, it was also possible that he considered his personal life to be out of bounds during a professional investigation. He couldn’t consider it out of bounds to her, surely. No, most likely his honor wouldn’t allow him to gossip about his ex-wife. Well, Phryne had always liked a challenge. She’d continue to pry. Eventually, he’d have to give in.

*****

Jack knew that Phryne was curious about Rosie, but he couldn’t bring himself to discuss their marriage or its downfall. He blamed himself for not being able to get back to the man he’d been before the war. He knew that was, in the end, why Rosie had left him. Jack was a man who liked to win, which was why he had one of the highest closed-case rates on the Victoria Police Force. The end of his marriage seemed to him the most egregious of losses, and he didn’t want Phryne to see him as a failure.

He also didn’t want to explain the night terrors he still occasionally had (though he rather thought Phryne would understand them—she likely had her own) or his continuing inability to engage socially with the seemingly carefree people he’d left behind. He didn’t want Phryne to see him as broken; he didn’t see himself that way, most days. He knew, though, that credit for his lack of brokenness today could, at least in part, be laid at Phryne’s door. Since he’d met her, his world was brighter, shinier. Somehow, she’d come away from the horrors of war with her spirit intact, and she’d imparted some of that to him just by mere proximity.

So he didn’t talk to Phryne about Rosie, though he talked with her about just about everything else. He’d found Phryne to be a friend in a way that Rosie never had been during their marriage; they’d been too young to know the value of friendship, he and Rosie, and they’d been caught up in the romance of young love. Perhaps he could consider Rosie a friend now, though. He no longer desired her, not the way he desired Phryne, but he cared what happened to her. They had shared sixteen years, give or take a few, and that wasn’t easy to wipe away.

*****

Rosie heard the knock at her door, and her heart leapt to her throat. That was a policeman’s knock—she’d lived all her life with men who had that efficient drumbeat down to a science. She really hoped that no one else she cared about was dead. Opening the door to Jack, his Rosie was relieved, and told him so. It was wonderful to see Jack smile so easily.

And then, ah, Miss Fisher. Rosie had become more concerned with Jack’s attachment to this woman the more she’d heard about her. He certainly appeared to be smitten with her. Rosie could tell; someone who didn’t know him as well as Rosie did might not see it, but Rosie could tell. It was impossible to tell from Miss Fisher’s habitual insouciance whether she returned Jack’s regard, however. The two of them didn’t touch; Jack didn’t even touch an assisting hand to Phryne’s back. They sat far apart on the sofa as they questioned Celia Harper. They barely exchanged a glance between them, but… there was something there.

Rosie found herself getting defensive over Miss Fisher’s questions. Yes, Rosie thought that Celia and Harry had a good marriage. Yes, she thought their plans to take a vacation cruise after the season was over sounded romantic. Perhaps it was the unspoken questions that Rosie heard echoing: Yes, she and Jack had had a good marriage, though it hadn’t gone the distance. Yes, it would have been nice to go on a cruise with her husband, whose salary wouldn’t have borne it, but Mrs Moller’s holiday cottages had been romantic in its own way.

She tried to hide her feelings, but wasn’t sure she was successful, judging by the glance that passed between Jack and Miss Fisher. She was relieved when Jack brought up the memorial. When she saw Jack’s interested look, however, she knew what he was thinking, and she decided to head him off.

“Jack, we know you want to solve this case—we all want that,” she shared a glance with Sidney, “—but it would be so much easier for Celia if there weren’t a… police presence?” Rosie’s tone was apologetic, but firm. She was surprised, then, by the look that passed through Jack’s eyes before he agreed to stay away. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

*****

When Rosie asked him to stay away from the memorial, Jack surprised himself by being hurt. There had been a time when his presence at such a difficult event would have been a help rather than a hindrance. But Rosie had Sidney now, so Jack supposed it was appropriate that he leave her well-being to her fiance. He tucked the hurt away, willing it to dissipate along with his regrets over the failure of his marriage, and led Miss Fisher out to the car.

*****

The look on Jack’s face at Rosie’s remark caused Phryne’s temper to flash. How dare Rosie? As if Jack would be so uncouth as to make a nuisance of himself at a memorial service! Jack was always appropriate. He laughingly sulked about being asked to stay away, but she could tell his feelings were hurt. She decided to distract him. First, with her arch comment about his never taking Rosie on a continental cruise, and then by giving him the card she’d souvenired from Vince Barlow’s locker.

When Phryne arrived at the memorial herself, she sought Rosie out. She wasn’t sure what to make of the woman. Phryne knew that Jack had loved her, and that she had loved Jack. What Phryne didn’t know was how Rosie felt about Jack now. She certainly seemed rather proprietary in her address toward Jack, and a bit on the prickly side when it came to Phryne. She was surprised, then, when her interaction with Rosie was civil, even warm. As they talked, her opinion of Rosie rose. Perhaps she had been worthy of Jack after all. This woman, Phryne thought, was smart and observant. Why, they might even eventually become friends.

*****

Rosie was taken aback a little at Phryne’s encouragement of her as they stood talking together at the Hangman’s memorial. Phryne seemed to want to hear what Rosie had to say, and she didn’t bring up Jack’s exclusion from this event. Rosie was grateful for that. She couldn’t forget the hurt that had passed through Jack’s eyes earlier in the day. She supposed that, as his ex-wife, she should care less if his feelings were hurt, but that wasn’t the case. For all that Jack’s continued presence in her life reminded her of what she considered her greatest failure—the end of her marriage—she still cared for him.

And Miss Fisher had been all that was polite. Rosie rather liked the modern woman’s obvious intelligence and wit. It was possible that, all things considered, the two of them might yet get along famously.

*****

When they met at the game, two dead team captains and two jailed coaches later, it made Rosie glad to see Jack looking so happy as he stood with Miss Fisher before the game. She chatted cordially with both of them, and was pleased to feel that she felt only gratitude that he seemed to have forgiven her for asking him to stay away from the memorial. She settled into her seat next to Sidney, pleased to be with her fiance. When she glanced casually back at her former husband, though, to see him looping his Abbotsford scarf—the scarf she’d knitted for him—around Miss Fisher’s neck, she felt her mood drop. She wasn’t jealous, exactly. She was happy for him! But oh, the look on his face as he tugged Miss Fisher closer to him, as if he was holding himself back from kissing her. Jack hadn’t looked at Rosie that way since before the war. Rosie reminded herself that she had Sidney now, that she had the desire and love that she’d wanted for so long and had failed to get from the man that Jack had become. But that didn’t stop it from hurting.


	4. Cold and Colder

Rosie listened from Jack’s office as her father dressed her former husband down for his association with Phryne. Didn’t the woman see how she was affecting Jack’s career? It was a shame, really. She rather liked Phryne, but her loyalty to Jack had to come first. If Phryne couldn’t see what she was doing to Jack’s reputation, she didn’t deserve him. A wife’s duty was to support her husband, not make things more difficult for him. Not that Jack and Miss Fisher were engaged, but their partnership was clear.

As Rosie left, she bid goodbye to Phryne coolly, using the more formal “Miss Fisher,” even having been invited to use Phryne’s first name. She hoped that her remaining formality would be a signal to Phryne that Rosie did not approve of Phryne’s cavalier treatment of Jack’s career. Already, Rosie’s father had assigned this case to another inspector—a rather unprecedented move, especially when it came to Jack. Rosie hoped that her chilly greeting would help get the message across to Phryne.

*****

Phryne registered Rosie’s coolness as she left the station, but she was too consumed with her remorse over getting Jack in hot water to truly consider it. She apologized to Jack, sulkily but sincerely, and when he dismissed her apology, she felt a rush of gratitude that almost confused her. It was funny, actually. Since she’d returned to Melbourne, Phryne felt that her personal horizons had expanded exponentially. Since the war, she’d kept her friendships to the frivolous, rarely letting anyone close. Here, though, she had let her entire household, including a foster daughter, into her heart. And Jack was right there beside them all.

So she was glad that he didn’t seem to be bothered by Sanderson’s implied threat to his career, and that she wasn’t being held responsible for the reprimand he’d been given. When he asked whether her break-and-enter had been worth the fuss, she beamed as she showed him the evidence she’d uncovered. This was how being with Jack should be. All in accord, and investigating. Together.

*****

Jack stood in the parlor at 221B, Phryne at his shoulder, Rosie before him. Rosie believed that he should go to her father with what he’d found, but Jack was certain that going to George would get him into even hotter water. Something seemed off about the handling of this case, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. And it didn’t help that Rosie found it necessary—suddenly—to take umbrage with Miss Fisher, who was siding with him! It wasn’t Phryne’s fault that George thought she was meddlesome. She _was_ meddlesome, but that was what made her so good at investigating. Her instincts were generally spot on.

Jack glanced between the two women, trying his best not to shift from foot to foot. He was grateful to Sidney when the man agreed that Jack was in a difficult place. (Sidney meant in regards to George, but Jack felt his feet to the fire in his current physical location as well.) He happily took the out that Sidney gave him and, mumbling something about contacting Collins, moved out of the room.

*****

Phryne was dumbfounded. Why would Rosie think that Phryne would purposefully make things more difficult for Jack? She’d apologized to him already (not that that was any of Rosie’s business), and he’d absolved her. Sort of. At any rate, if Jack didn’t want her to back off, Phryne decided, she wouldn’t.

Maybe, Phryne mused, Rosie was regretting that she’d lost Jack. Really, who wouldn’t? Jack was quite a catch—smart, handsome, honorable. Phryne honestly couldn’t imagine having had Jack and letting him go. But Rosie had Sidney now, and he seemed devoted to her. Whatever Rosie was feeling, Phryne was disappointed—they’d seemed to get along well, and now Rosie was so very cold. Perhaps that friendship wouldn’t be progressing after all.

*****

Rosie met Miss Fisher’s eyes, noting the other woman’s expectant stance. She thought that Miss Fisher must be wondering why Rosie was so upset, but it seemed obvious. By convincing Jack to keep this information from the chief commissioner—who happened to be Jack’s former father-in-law—Miss Fisher was going to seriously hamper Jack’s career. He could even be dismissed for ignoring a directive! Rosie left the parlor angrily, pausing to try, once again, to make Phryne understand.

“You’ve really made things worse for Jack, you know,” she said, meaning it. Phryne’s interference would not aid Jack, not at all. The politics surrounding the upper levels of the constabulary was intense. To advance—at this point, just to keep his current rank—Jack would have to play the game; he’d have to be beyond reproach. His involvement with Miss Fisher, while definitely healthy on a personal level, was career suicide.

*****

Jack’s first thought, after the arrests at the dock of George Sanderson and Sidney Fletcher, was, “oh, poor Rosie!” This would gut her, he knew. She idolized her father, and she was in love with Fletcher. He knew that he would be there for her, of course, and she’d have her sister, but it would be a difficult blow. And the aftermath would be worse. Both men were high profile, but the fact that Sanderson was chief commissioner? The press would be awful for anyone connected with him. Jack hoped that he could convince Rosie to go away for a while, until the furor died down.

*****

Phryne’s first thought, after realizing that Sidney Fletcher was behind the slavery ring and that George Sanderson was involved, was, “oh, poor Rosie!” She could tell that Rosie loved both men, and their arrests—especially for something so heinous—would knock the pins from under her. Phryne wished that she and Rosie were on better terms; she hoped Rosie had family or friends she could turn to in this trying time.

*****

Rosie’s first thought, when she heard the news, was “impossible!” Her father and Sidney were among the best men she knew. They couldn’t be involved with this terrible crime! She would have known, wouldn’t she? She’d been searching her memory for moments that seemed out of tune with the rest of her life with Sidney, but she hadn’t found any. Was her intuition truly so poor?

When Jack called her from the station to tell her the news, she hurried there to wait for the final word to come—the exonerating evidence, the cry of “surprise!” followed by laughter that she’d fallen for this terrible, tasteless joke. But it didn’t, and instead, all she heard was more information that painted her father and her fiance with the blackest of brushes.

She paced the lobby of City South, unable to believe that this was happening. She suppressed the hot tears that pressed against the back of her eyes, not wanting to fall apart in such a public place. When the door opened and Miss Fisher exited, Rosie couldn’t bear the pity she saw in the woman’s eyes. This kind of thing wouldn’t happen to someone like Miss Fisher, with her honed powers of observation. Miss Fisher would never be caught unawares by the perfidy of someone she loved. Rosie didn’t even want to look at her (though if they’d been friends, she thought Phryne might have wanted to comfort her), so she spun away without acknowledgment.

*****

Phryne looked at Rosie as she exited Jack’s office ahead of the gentlemen. She wished that she and Rosie were closer, so that Phryne could offer some genuine assistance. She remembered what it was like to be betrayed by the man you loved, and she wondered whether Rosie would accept an empathetic clasp of hands or even an embrace. Phryne supposed that her wish to help was rather presumptuous, but she would have gone to Rosie had she been given any sign that it was welcome. Rosie’s wordless dismissal seemed to indicate that it wasn’t, however, so Phryne moved away, hoping to give with distance what she couldn’t with closeness.

*****

Rosie’s thoughts flew to Sidney, who was under police guard at the hospital, being treated for a bullet wound and mild hypothermia from the icy waters of the bay. Jack said that Sidney had tried to shoot Miss Fisher, that he’d planned to kill Phryne and the friends she’d brought to help free those poor girls. How could that be? How could this man to whom she’d given her heart, her hand, and her body be the kind of man who’d first commit a terrible crime and then kill to cover it up? And how was it that she hadn’t seen that in him? Sidney had been nothing but kind and attentive to Rosie, showing no trace of the monster he must be to have done the things they accused him of.

When Rosie’s father approached her—as he was being taken to a cell!—he tried to say that he hadn’t known what Sidney was up to. But how could he not have known? How could _she_ not have known? He had to have had some inkling of where Sidney’s schemes had gone. Jack said that her father had tried to hide evidence on the ship that night—he had to have known, had to have been a part of the scheme. She was viciously grateful when Jack’s constable guided her father away; she couldn’t even look at him without feeling sick to her stomach.

The next person to approach her would break her, she thought. The next person might see her scream and cry and melt into a puddle of sorrow and anger and grief. The next person… was Jack. And yes, he might see all of those things, but that was all right. Because he was Jack, who had never hurt her except by not being there. And he was here now. She buried her head in his shoulder and wept.

*****

Phryne watched as Jack pulled Rosie close. She understood, really, she thought. He had been Rosie’s husband; they had history. He still loved her, on some level, even if he wasn’t “in that ring.” But her stomach hurt, just the same, seeing him with Rosie in this intimate moment. Jack was such an honorable man. He’d been drawing closer and closer to Phryne over the past several months, and she’d begun to hope that their partnership might take a new route. But seeing him now, tonight, convinced her that her traditional, upstanding man was more likely to cleave to the traditional, upstanding woman who had been his wife. She swallowed, and with the saliva that had pooled in her mouth, she swallowed the hopes she’d had of more.

*****

Jack sat outside Phryne’s house in his car. Her bedroom light was still on. Perhaps that meant that she was still awake? It was very late and he didn’t want to intrude, but he’d wanted to see her. He’d taken Rosie to her sister’s house and called a doctor to give her something to help her sleep. She had been distraught, and for good reason. Her entire world had just come crashing down around her. Jack knew what that felt like; he’d felt it more than once: During the war, in his first battle, with men screaming and falling all around him and the man he’d sat next to at breakfast lying dead beside him in the trenches. Returning home to wife and a life he no longer knew, going through the motions as he tried to put himself back together after walking through hell. And receiving a phone call telling him that Miss Fisher was dead.

He understood what Rosie was feeling, and he wanted to support her as she navigated her life “after,” as it would become. But he was no longer Rosie’s husband. He no longer felt that he needed to be by her side when what he wanted was to be comforted himself, and by one particular person. He closed his eyes in a long blink, envisioning Phryne welcoming him with open arms. She would understand that this case had gutted him, too. And she would be there for him. He shook his head slightly and opened the car door.

*****

Phryne heard the tap on the glass next to her door, and her heart swooped. It was Jack, she knew. Perhaps he had come to say goodbye, to tell her that he was going to go back to Rosie in order to help her through this difficult time. He might hold out hope that in a few weeks or months, their partnership could resume. But chances were, they wouldn’t be able to work together for a while. She braced herself and opened the door to him.

Her answer, when he asked if it was too late—“Never”—encapsulated more than she’d intended. She would not turn him away; not now, not later. She was there for him. He was her friend, her mainstay, and—for a moment—he’d been even more. She tried not to mourn him before he was gone.

When she asked after Rosie (after a fashion), he answered her, telling her that Rosie just needed some company. She knew that it was more than that. In the swirling chaos that her life had become, Rosie needed a rock to cling to, a man who refused to let people down. She’d needed Jack, who always did the right thing.

Phryne’s sadness and her hard-won acceptance that she would lose Jack to Rosie made his soft “not always, Miss Fisher” seem unreal. The small movement he made to close the gap between them felt enormous in that moment, and her heart, which had been leaden since she’d seen him pull Rosie to his chest at City South, flew. Even Aunt Prudence’s untimely interruption could be laughed off because with those four words, Jack told Phryne everything. He wasn’t going back to Rosie, he did feel something for Phryne, and they had time to explore whatever that was.

Poor Rosie, Phryne thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on this journey with me. This fic is very different from anything else I've posted, as you may have noticed—heck, it's different from anything else I've written! I hope that it works for you!


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